


A Fight We Chose

by QuickSilverFox3



Series: The International Wizarding School Championship [10]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Discrimination, Gen, Goverment Takeover, Revolution, Riots
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-18
Updated: 2019-06-18
Packaged: 2020-05-14 05:08:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,587
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19266478
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/QuickSilverFox3/pseuds/QuickSilverFox3
Summary: The wizarding community is spooked due to an impending meteor shower, Hermione is haunted by the war still but she is determined to do what is right, whatever it takes.





	A Fight We Chose

Hermione knew from the first moment she opened her eyes that it was going to be a bad day.

The radio crackled into life, reports of falling stars and mass panic filtering into Hermione's half-conscious dreams, startling her awake with a scream, heart pounding, wand extended in front of her, aimed at an enemy long dead. Her hair hung wild around her face; sections plastered to her skull with sweat. Crookshanks yowled in the corner, fur sticking up on end before he skittered out of the room, claws leaving scratches on the wooden floor. The water was broken, alternating between frigid and scalding, never quite settling between the two during her two-minute showering, teeth chattering unpleasantly as the kettle boiled. Her hair tie broke in half, hair cascading around her face in an uncontrollable mass, the tie creating deep indents in her fingers. The tea was burning as she dropped it down her leg, barely managing to avoid dropping it on Crookshanks as she tripped over her own discarded shoes and landed heavily and awkwardly on the sofa.

She knew some mornings were going to be difficult on her own. The therapist all the War survivors were strongly encouraged to go and see had told her about days like this. Days when the world seemed against her, days when all she would want to do would be to hide under the covers and never come out again, days when it seemed like the war had never ended. Intellectually she knew all of this, words on a page that she could recall at will during the times when her chest felt so tight, she thought she was dying, when her lungs screamed for air and it wasn't enough. It was different experiencing it, however.

This was the burden she had chosen to bear, self-sacrifice to make things better for everyone. So, she squared her shoulders, raked her fingers through Crookshanks' thick fur until it no longer stood on end and the cat's purring rumbled through her palms. Breakfast would have to wait. Again.

»»-►

"Morning Miss Granger!" Bethany called to her over the teeming mass of people, the young woman hanging precariously over the railings to wave enthusiastically. Hermione would have responded, but she didn't dare raise her arms for fear of being stuck like that. Already she could feel bruises beginning to form on her arms, sore points on her ribs from her rough passage from the Floo. The roar of the fireplaces was near deafening, the constant stream of people pouring into the Ministry, shouting their concerns, unable to give an inch that wasn't taken. Normally one look at the scowl on her face would have been enough to cause even hardened Death Eaters to give her breathing room and yet it wasn't good enough in the face of sheer panic.  
"What's going to happen to my potions?" one man yelled again, his plea almost lost in the babbling of voices.  
"They're going to fall on my house and crush it!" A woman shrieked, her neighbours taking up the call. Hermione set her elbows, driving them into the people in her way indiscriminately, head bowed in hopes of going mostly unrecognised to reach her goal.

The crowd spat her out in front of the line of Aurors guard the stairs to the escalators what felt like hours later. Her face was flushed, hair more dishevelled than ever and, as Perkins visibly paled at the sight of her, looked ready to kill.  
"Identification card please Miss Granger," he stammered, somehow turning even paler beneath his freckles as the full force of her glare turned on him. Hermione raised her identification card from the inside pocket of her robes. It was too dangerous to have it hanging loose around her neck. Not only did a suspect try to strangle her with it, it got caught on the edge of the desk far too often and Bethany had wisely pointed it, it was undignified to start standing up before getting trapped by your own nametag.  
"Thank you Miss Granger," Perkins squeaked, stepping ever so slightly aside to let her dart through before the line reformed behind her, impenetrable once again.  
"Bethany what's happening?" Hermione hissed, the second the other woman got close enough. Her easy grin dropped, immediately shifting in a more professional manner, notebook and quill dancing along beside her.  
"The meteor shower has everyone spooked. Kingsley has asked that we go to the third floor and-"

The world seemed to twist in slow motion. Bethany's eyes widened, her hand stretching out to grab Hermione's shoulder and yet she already knew, twisting into the movement and toppling to the floor. But she didn't move fast enough. The spell slammed into her back, pain crackling through her mind and she swiftly fell into unconsciousness, the iron taste of blood in her mouth.

»»-►

And so, Hermione woke for the second time that day with screams filtering into her head, mingling with those long dead, catapulting herself up with her wand drawn and teeth bared.  
"Hey boss, hey!" Bethany tentatively placed her hands-on Hermione's wand arm, slowly pushing it down as Hermione gasped for breath.  
"What happened?" Hermione snarled, hands beginning to shake, the world tipping to the side as she collapsed back onto the pillows.  
Bethany tapped her fingers against the wand resting in her lap, eyes shifting off to the side as she thought.  
"Bethany please," Hermione groaned, shifting slightly, heavy bandages wrapped around her torso.  
"I'm a Slytherin," Bethany blurted, the tapping increasing as her eyes darted around the private room, shoulders hunched. Hermione fought to not let her surprise show on her face. Following the War, there had been significant backlash towards Slytherin's, both the traditional longstanding families and those newly graduated who weren't involved with the fighting. Kingsley tried to stop this in his new role as Minister, backed by Hermione and yet things still slipped by, the most pressing being discrimination in professional careers.

"I thought you were a Ravenclaw, but-"  
"You never asked. I went for so many job interviews and you were the only one who didn't ask," Bethany said, gaze locking with Hermione's.  
"It's not right," Hermione said, slowly shaking her head, not breaking Bethany's gaze, "I fought to stop Voldemort and his discrimination. I didn't sign up to be part of a different kind of discrimination."  
"And that's why I will follow you. You're more Slytherin than you realise," Bethany chuckled, the tapping tailing off.

Hermione reflexively opened her mouth to protest but shut it again with a clack. Her urge to deny any association with Slytherin was long since embedded in her since her first year as a Gryffindor, but she was older now, battle-hardened and angry at the world. Here was Bethany, the woman who had been by her side for her entire time in this department, who tried to shield her from an attacker just this morning, who kept her abreast of all potential threats or ruffled feathers in her quest to rise to the top of the Magical Law department. What she said wasn't meant to hurt Hermione, as different from the hissed jeers of her detractors as could be. Slytherin traits... They were ambitious and cunning, the two combining to form a willingness to do whatever it took to succeed. And didn't that fit Hermione exactly?

"You have a point," Hermione admitted slowly, pushing herself into a seated position, "It's served me well so far so it would be pointless to work myself in a denial frenzy."  
"And that's why I work for you. You do care. You care so much you feel as though you will bleed to death with the pain of it. And you very nearly did."  
Bethany's voice cracked, her fingers drumming once more.  
"Your attacker was just a normal wizard, worried about the meteor shower ruining all his protective wards and spell components. He only recognised you because of your part in the War but no-one knows why he targeted you."

Hermione nodded, fatigue washing over her, and her eyes drifted closed. The sharp scent of hospital cleaning potions burned her nose; the noise of the teeming crowds outside muffled by the wards etched into the walls; her back ached, a dull throbbing pain which matched the pain in her head. She felt strange, wrung out and empty, balanced on the edge of a precipice without knowing what was at the bottom. Sink or swim, fight or flight. One choice would be easier, it would be easier to not fight and yet that was never in her nature, Gryffindor stubbornness and Slytherin drive pushing her further and further into this fight. She was not a quitter, never able to let injustice go when she found it, from the house elves in the Hogwarts kitchens to Professor Lupin being driven out of jobs just because he was a werewolf. She would fight for them and embrace her Slytherin qualities to help her rise to the top.  
"You'll help me reach the top won't you Bethany?" Hermione mumbled sleepily, blinking up at her assistant even as the void pulled at her, drawing her into a world lacking in meteor shower induced violence and struggles to be fought.  
"I'd be delighted," Bethany said, her voice coming from far away, "I'll work on getting you out and then we can work on the battle plan."  
"Thank you," Hermione yawned, her eyes fluttering closed as she fell asleep, plans already forming in her dreams for her candidacy.


End file.
